


Color

by Arisprite



Series: By Grace, We Are Saved [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Charlie meets Castiel, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sandwiches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisprite/pseuds/Arisprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who are you?” Castiel interrupted her ramblings, not sure if there was an actual answer in there, but he’d heard Sam’s name and that made his ears prick. <br/>“Right. I’m Charlie,” Charlie said, her tone almost a question. “Sam sent me with some clothes and money, and you know, a ride if you want one.”<br/>Relief warred with his wariness, and he cracked the door open, holding the remote (a pathetic weapon, but the only thing in reach in the scanty motel room) at the ready. Charlie was a small, young, red haired woman, dressed in bright colors and smiling at him tentatively. She held two plastic bags, and had another canvas bag slung over her shoulder. <br/>“Hi,” She said. </p>
<p>Cas POV to "Shopping" by archi</p>
            </blockquote>





	Color

Two days after he spoke with Sam on the phone, Castiel sat hunched on a motel bed in Lawrence, Kansas, clutching his wounded torso and the discharge papers from the hospital in subsequent hands. He was out of the hospital now, to his great relief and vague discomfort. Now he didn’t know what to do. 

Sam was hours away, Dean didn’t know he was alive (by his own doing) and there were many needs that distantly pressed on his newly human consciousness. He was in a lot of pain, he was aware of a need to eat, and sleep and he felt itchy all over. He still had to procure the medicines listed on the prescription papers, and acquire food, and, he supposed, start living a human life. But he sat there, unmoving, unsure, feeling like he was on the edge of a precipice, balancing on a wire, in the last minutes before a nose dive from the stratosphere towards the crust of the earth. If he moved he’d shatter, he’d fall again and hit the earth with a great crash, like he had a few days ago. 

Castiel remembered. He remembered leaving Sam and Dean standing exposed under the raging might of Heaven. He remembered walking, then flying, knowing he was going to his death. He remembered the heat and the light and then the fall. 

Falling. 

And an impact that whited out his vision. 

Then he woke in a hospital, the last of his grace having burnt out on the way down, just enough to keep himself in a vessel, and keep him from being flattened by the impact. 

Castiel was distantly aware of his breathing speeding up. Cold sweat dribbled under his scrubs (borrowed from the hospital, as everything except his dress shoes were pretty much burned scraps).

What was he supposed to do?

Castiel sat there, and couldn’t make himself move, not even to get a drink of water for his suddenly bone dry throat, when two quick raps sounded at the door.

Castiel felt the shock rush over him, breaking him out of his paralysis and making him scramble painfully to his feet He was painfully aware he had no weapons, no grace to assure defeat over most creatures. His hair felt like it was standing on end. Was this what   
humans always felt like?

There was a person, or a creature knocking at his motel room door. No one but Sam knew he was here. He stood, frozen, as another knock came and a low voice accompanied it. 

“Um, hello? Castiel?” The sound, a young woman’s voice, unstuck his limbs, and he shot to the side of the door, grabbing the TV remote on the way, and pressing himself against the wall. 

She had sounded unsure, but Castiel knew multitudes of creatures, and many knew the trick of acting innocent to lure in their prey. 

“How do you know that name?” Castiel demanded. The girl or woman or creature huffed a breath. 

“Oh good, you are here. I was worried I got the wrong room. Or Sam did, or that maybe a monster or something had gotten you, like if you got attacked.   
Not that I think you would, cause you were pretty badass in the books--”

“Who are you?” Castiel interrupted her ramblings, not sure if there was an actual answer in there, but he’d heard Sam’s name and that made his ears prick. 

“Right. I’m Charlie,” Charlie said, her tone almost a question. “Sam sent me with some clothes and money, and you know, a ride if you want one.”

Relief warred with his wariness, and he cracked the door open, holding the remote (a pathetic weapon, but the only thing in reach in the scanty motel room) at the ready. Charlie was a small, young, red haired woman, dressed in bright colors and smiling at him tentatively. She held two plastic bags, and had another canvas bag slung over her shoulder. 

“Hi,” She said. 

Cas didn’t open the door wider, didn’t back up to let her in, but he frowned at her in thought. 

“How do I know you are who you say?” Castiel couldn’t be too careful. He had no way yet of knowing how well his senses were attuned to other creatures in this state. She looked human, and felt human, but until he met a demon he didn’t know if he could tell the difference. His challenge caused her to blink in realization. 

“Well, not a demon or a monster or anything. I’m friends with Sam and Dean. They saved my life a couple times, but they kinda do that.”

Castiel could not deny it. 

“I help them out now. I’m kind of a genius with the tech, so I do research, and hack a lot. I was in the area, and Sam wanted me to help you out until we tell Dean.”

At that, Castiel stepped back. The door swung open wider, and her smile matched, as she stepped inside. He believed her, no one who hadn’t talked to Sam would know that much, and truly she was charming in spite of his resistance. But at the reminder of Dean, at what he was doing, and all he was keeping from him, the fight went out of him. 

Charlie carried the bags further inside, and then faced him with an eyebrow raised. 

“Dude, were you going to attack me with a clicker? Not cool.”

Castiel looked down at the remote in his hand, and then backed up to sit on the bed, leaving the remote on the covers beside him. 

Charlie bustled around, the bags rustling noisily until she set them on the table by the television. 

“So, I have to say. You’re different than I expected. One thing, no trench. Sad I missed that. It was so...Constantine. You should have seen the cover art. They don’t do you justice at all.”

Castiel watched her as she both talked, and removed items from her bags. Bread, lunch meat, cheese slices and a bag of lettuce from one, and then a stack of clothes from the other. 

“I hope these fit. Sam didn’t really know your size, and ‘shorter than me’ doesn’t really help much, you know?” She handed him a pile of what Castiel realized was sweats, a tee shirt and a jacket. “Why don’t you get changed, and I’ll get us some lunch?”

Cas was willing, the scrubs he’d been given in lieu of the bloodstained scraps of his clothing were uncomfortable: very obviously not proper clothing, and the fabric was thin and made him chilled. All he had left was his tattered trench coat (he’d not let them throw it away) and his shoes. The loss of his suit gave him a small pang which he supposed was human nostalgia.

“Very well.” 

Charlie blinked at him for a moment, and then gestured towards the other door in the room. 

“Bathroom’s over there, unless you were planning on stripping down out here.” she said, sounding vaguely nervous. Castiel huffed. He was fully aware of human gender decorum, and he had no wish to offend this friend of Dean and Sam’s. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He took the clothes, and mostly steadily made his way to the bathroom. His body ached, with sharp pains underneath the bandages, where he’d hit the ground as he’d literally fallen. 

Castiel hadn’t expected to survive the explosion of his grace. The sacrifice called for it, and he’d given willing, flying closer to let it flow from him. He’d heard Anna describe her fall as cutting her grace out with a butter knife. He now knew with a surety that description was an understatement. It had ripped out of him, and he truly didn’t expect to crash back to the field, or be found unconscious by civilians, or to wake up in the hospital in pain, but alive, himself. And human, mostly. 

He stumbled against the side of the counter, as a flare of pain jolted through the muscles in his back. 

Human, weak, useless, a liability. He allowed himself a humorless twitch of his lips. Not a scrap of angelic left, except he could still occasionally get blasts of “angel radio” if he wasn’t careful to block it off. That was accompanied by intense headaches, thus rendering any purpose that might serve feeble at best, as it put him out of commission. 

Castiel, still holding onto the counter, sighed and lowered his head. He tried to squash the thoughts down. He didn’t have time to wallow. He needed to deal with the chirpy bright girl out in the main room, and figure out what to do next. 

Clothes seemed appropriate as a first step. 

Charlie had bought him simple, soft things that didn’t aggravate his injuries. He pulled the plain underclothes, the loose sweats, the soft tee shirt, and then a warm hooded jacket. He felt both comfortable and uncomfortable in them. It was looser fitting than the suit and coat he’d worn before, but it was warm where he’d been chilled before, not realizing, and Castiel hunched into the shoulders of the jacket without thought. 

Out in the main room, Charlie was sitting at the table, spreading mustard on slices of bread. There were carrots, and other vibrant snack bags sitting at the table, and Charlie seemed intent on putting them all together on the paper plates. Castiel came forwards slowly, and sat himself on the edge of the bed, noticing how the clothes moved against his skin differently than both the suit and the hospital clothes. It was closer to what he’d worn in the mental hospital, but even then he’d not been able to pay attention. Physical details grabbed his notice now more than they ever did before as an angel. 

“So, you hungry?” Charlie asked, putting the bread on the top of one sandwich and moving on to put the ingredients on the other. He suddenly remembered making sandwiches for Sam and Dean. He wondered how that one would have tasted compared to this one. “I just got stuff for sandwiches. It’ll all keep for a while in the fridge, glad you have one,” She gestured to the small metallic box in the corner. His ears registered that it had been humming the whole time he’d been here, and he’s only noticed now. It was strange how both sensitive and dull his senses were as a human. “Sam didn’t exactly say what your plans were...?” 

She trailed off, obviously fishing for an answer. Castiel looked towards the floor. He wished that everyone would just stop asking him that. There was a long pause as Charlie waited for an answer, then seemed to give up. 

“Well, anyway. I figured we can eat, and then if you needed anything-real clothes, more food, etc, I could take you tonight. I did get you a pair of jeans for when you’re feeling better. I hope they fit you too, it’s hard to guess.”

Castiel glanced towards the discharge papers he’d left on the bed. Her eyes followed, and then she winced. 

“Oh gosh, I forgot, you probably have prescriptions and stuff, don’t you?” Self-recrimination flooded her face. “You just got out of the hospital, obviously. I should have that of that first! Do you want that right now? Are you in a lot of pain?”  
Any inclination to think that this woman wasn’t exactly who she said had fallen away by this point, and Castiel let his face soften, trying to keep his pain from his face. 

“I’m fine for now.” He eyed the sandwich, and his stomach gave a little growl of interest. He put a hand over the strange sensation, and moved to sit at the table, trying not to wince. 

Charlie had suspicion over her face, but she still pushed one of the plates over to him, and then took a seat across from him with her own. 

“Right after this, we’ll go get your meds, alright?” She said, lifting her sandwich to her mouth, and taking a bite. She continued talking through the bread and meat and Castiel was reminded fondly of Dean. “I can’t believe I forgot, I mean you’re practically a ball of scrapes and bruises. You look like Frodo after he got rid of the ring. At least you have all your fingers, though!”

Castiel looked down at his hands, in the midst of reaching for the sandwich on his plate. All his digits were accounted for. He dismissed it as the type of reference that Dean would make, and he’d ignore. 

Charlie ate her sandwich, and Castiel nibbled at his own. It tasted good, as far as he was familiar with sandwiches, and he rather like the barbeque flavored chips. Silence brushed the table, but Castiel concentrated on the food in front of him, determined to do this first human thing right.   
Then, Charlie spoke. 

“So, I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about your past, but can I just say. Angel, huh? That’s pretty sweet. I didn’t expect your voice though, it’s all gravelly. Do you do that normally, or is it just cause you’re not feeling so hot?”

Castiel squinted at her, realizing this was the second time she’d mentioned knowing him from something else. 

“What are you referencing? How do you know me?” Because he certainly didn’t know her, and no longer could he look into her eyes, and feel her thoughts and hopes and emotions (though not truly read them as Dean seemed to think he’d been able to do) He was degraded to asking questions like a human. 

“Oh, from the books, Carver Edlund.” Charlie took a bite of the her own chips, something covered with orange powder, which stained her finger tips. “You were in the ones they published online. The first hard copies only went up to when Dean went to Hell, but you showed up after he got out. But of course, you remember...”

Castiel wanted to add that he’d dragged the man out of Hell, Dean didn’t just get out, but his brain then rang a bell, and Castiel remembered the book series by the Prophet Chuck a long time ago. He hadn’t been aware that there had been more written and been made available, much less that he was a character. He felt a dreadful curiosity, along with a sick feeling about what those books might have told about his less righteous actions.  
Charlie continued.

“Apparently, they were all true, which kinda sucks for you guys. But, you know, thanks. More juice?”

Castiel looked down at the small paper cup she’d placed beside his plate, and realized he’d drained it of it’s contents without even noticing. She grabbed the jug of orange juice and refilled his drink, and he smiled his thanks. He didn’t specify if it was for the juice or her gratitude.


End file.
